


Last Words

by hannahrhen



Series: Good, Giving, Game [18]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Consensual Kink, Control Issues, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Gags, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, Reconciliation, Tony Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony plays at control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Okay, so--it was power. Control.

Yeah, maybe Tony was the very last one to realize it, he admitted silently as he knelt over Loki’s trussed-up form. Banishing weakness after Afghanistan, building the suits--fighting brutally, constantly, to keep himself from being victimized again.

It wa inevitable that it would spill over into other areas of his life.

Once upon a time, Tony would have called himself vanilla and not even realized what moments like this would do for his gut--to his raging libido. Tonight, Loki had let himself be tied down. Not for the first time. Probably not for the last.

But Tony had never achieved quite this perfect configuration before--Loki’s arms shackled to the floor with heavy manacles around his wrists, just a few tangled blankets cushioning his angled joints. The to-be-patented _(in his dreams)_ Stark Fucking Machine now pushed aside after performing the hell out of its job.

Tony had watched that particular debasement as long as he could stand it, watched Loki on his back, legs bent and braced wide, ankles held by a spreader bar that kept him open around the machine that tormented him in cycles for over an hour. The huge slicked dildo had plowed into Loki’s ass fast, then slower, then stopped long enough each time for Tony’s captive to catch his breath, to relax his tensed muscles and try to focus his bleary eyes, before starting a new cycle.

Loki had shed a few tears. Begged a little with wordless sounds.

Tony had sweetened the pot with luxuriant kisses around the bit in Loki’s mouth, stroking the dark hair and whispering encouragement, tweaking his nipples, and offering a teasing blowjob that never quite culminated in orgasm, but that left Loki twitching on the sweet edge of release.

At that, Loki struggled hard in the manacles, Tony’s perfect control and the programming of the machine working in tandem to hold him there without pushing him over.

Loki was beautiful when he trembled.

Tony was getting good at this, and Loki had, as it turned out, a magnificent ability to suspend disbelief. Not sixty seconds after his own spell had conjured the restraints, it seemed to Tony that Loki forgot he could also undo them with a wish. Instead, he twisted and groaned and fought, tried to shut his legs against the spreader that opened him to the plowing appendage of that blissful machine. The sweat built on his skin, dripped in curving streams to the floor, built again.

The sound of Loki’s skin as it moved against scraps of blanket, shuffling the fabric over the hard floor--

Fuck, it was lovely.

And Loki couldn’t speak, of course--couldn’t threaten Tony beyond grunts and muffled roars, words almost formed but held back by the bit that pressed his teeth apart and held down that tricky tongue. Another device he could wrench free and spit out with thought, but instead Loki settled for staring desperately at Tony when the man moved into his field of vision, lured by the siren sounds of Loki frozen at the pinnacle of pleasure and layered with mortifying discomfort.

Tony’s words of comfort were anything but, as he told Loki how beautiful he looked splayed out and used, as he promised release-- _relief_ \--”just a little bit longer, baby. Just show me what you can do for awhile longer.” Loki squeezed his eyes shut, arched his back, and howled.

 _Tried_ to, anyway.

So.

Tony, as it turned out, had a power kink. Some _control issues._

And Loki? The perfect switch. JARVIS had helpfully--if creepily--supplied the term when Tony was muttering to himself in the lab, perfecting the to-be-trademarked _(in his dreams)_ SFM after copying the initial design from the one left in Loki’s lost apartment. Loki flourished in the role of both dominant and submissive, if drawn into each with the right motivation. The appropriate rewards.

Dominant? Christ, _yes._ Tony had tried--so, so hard--not to fetishize Stuttgart. Knew he owed it to the people terrorized and victimized by the inhuman creature with whom he now partnered. But it was hard to shut off his brain once it started sliding in that direction, in pitch-black hours when he was alone. Didn’t have the willpower to deprive himself when the vague images of being overpowered and held down began to morph into detail. And, eventually, he’d jacked off (and more than once) to very specific memories of Loki, sheathed in gold and green and leather, shouting at the kneeling figures in that square before turning his attention firmly to Tony.

Pushing Tony to his own knees and making use of his mouth. 

Had jacked off much more than once to the memories of himself hunched over on his elbows, held down and fucked in the ass for the first time as Loki whispered filth into his ear. The flat of Loki’s abdomen pressing along Tony’s spine; one hand, possessive, on his thigh, as Tony’s balls drew up, climax imminent but waiting for Loki’s _permission._

Yes.

_Oh, yes._

Loki could _dominate._

But, then: When pushed to his own knees, Loki notched into place like an expertly crafted buckle. Ceded control to Tony that first time as he was bound to the bed, day eight, and so many times thereafter ... especially once the spanking became a thing.

Like sedating an alligator by turning it onto its back.

Loki would tuck his face into Tony’s neck as soon as Tony’s tone changed, went bossy and harsh, and Tony could feel Loki’s pleased smile against his stubble. One sharp smack to his buttocks, and his entire body would curve around Tony’s, his very bones near to melting, his voice soft and low. Obedient. _God._ Some of it was for pretend, sure: the sparkle never left his eye as he play-acted role after role--student, maid, that one time as Reed Richards--no, he made sure Tony knew he was in on the joke.

But when it came down to it, when the moment came for Tony to guide him into position and do what Tony wanted to do--what they both wanted Tony to do--his breath would hitch and moisture would glisten in the corners of his eyes as he offered up the terms of his own pleasure to another.

To only one other.

Beautiful.

 _This_ was beautiful.

Loki’s eyes were huge now, over the bit, as he waited for what Tony would do next. Tony tilted his head, surveying--Loki was stretched long on the floor, but his legs were splayed, weak and loose from tensing and quivering around the machine for so long. Now freed from the spreader bar, they were barely held up by Loki’s diminishing muscle control. Tony dragged a palm down the inside of one of Loki’s thighs, slicking the sweat that had gathered there.

Tony smiled. Decided, “Pull your knees up to your chest, and then hold them apart as far as you can.” Saw from Loki’s widening eyes that he was anticipating a fresh fucking, maybe from Tony’s cock this time or just Tony’s fingers, but that wasn’t what Tony was going for, not yet.

In response to the delay, Tony slapped a shin, attention-getting instead of punishing. “Come on, babe. Do it.”

Heard a little mewl behind the gag, a shift of metal against bone as Loki’s tongue tried to work and then failed. The manacles jangled, chains scraping the floor. Oh, Tony was going to slap that leg _again,_ higher up on the outside of the thigh and definitely for punishment, if the hesitation continued, but finally he watched in approval as Loki followed the command, dropping his knees outward and exposing all the sensitive places between his legs to Tony.

He also made a little interrogative sound, but--no, no fucking this time. Not yet. Tony had another survey to do first. He’d wondered silently, on day one, whether his own homely, puckered balls held up to Loki’s scrutiny. Whether anyone, in fact, had nice-looking balls.

He reaffirmed the unfairness of the universe as he hunkered down between Loki's thighs. Well, there you go--of course, _this asshole did._ Leave it to a near-immortal space god living under what was obviously a beauty spell to manage it. The balls themselves were perfectly symmetrical, nicely taut and swelled after the evening’s torment, thin skin of his scrotum barely dusted with hair. Just enough to tilt Loki’s androgynous look toward male; not enough that Tony risked flossing his teeth every time he gave head.

He wasn’t giving head now. Just nudged one of Loki’s balls aside with his nose (got a little inhale and a jerk for that--nice), and kissed the very top of Loki’s inner thigh, right where the thin skin met his groin. Gently nibbled the seam between leg and sac, then settled in with his tongue. Worked the tip of it up and down that crease, edging ever closer to Loki’s (ridiculously gorgeous) balls while completely ignoring the thick, flushed dick that arced and dripped just a few inches away.

He knew what Loki was expecting, and had no intention of giving it to him.

Instead, he kissed and nipped and nuzzled as he quietly rubbed a little oil on the tips of his fingers. Touched a fingertip to the furled hole just beneath where he worked. The flesh there was remarkably resilient, almost looked untouched when Tony knew for a fact it had been pounded mercilessly by that thick dildo on and off for an hour.

“I love your ass,” he finally whispered, teasing with that fingertip, pausing after to run his tongue back down the fold between thigh and taint. “I love how good it it takes a dick--how good it takes my dick, actually, which is way better than anything I can do to it with silicone and metal.”

Loki made another clicking noise behind the bit--offense or agreement, Tony didn’t know or, frankly, care. Not at the moment. “And you know I can do wonderful things with silicone and metal.” Pressed in a touch with that index finger and continued to lave Loki’s skin with his tongue--started to work Loki’s balls back and forth in their protective sac.

Pulled away and offered more words, low and sweet, as the shackles clanked above his head. “One of these days--” Paused to appreciate the sight of his fingertip dipping into Loki’s body. “--one of these days, I’m gonna chain you up just like this--legs, too--and I’m going to grease up my whole hand--”

Loki moaned in a rough pattern; he was trying to speak behind the gag. Had something to say, Tony figured, but ... too bad.

“--and see how far into you it can fit.” Pretended to think it over as he watched his finger sink into Loki and pull back out, glistening with the absurd amount of lube swallowed by Loki’s body. “I think it would go the whole way, don’t you? Pretty sure of it.” Moved the finger in a little circle, opening him all over again. “Oh, what am I thinking? Mister I’ve Done Everything at Least A Hundred Times surely has had an entire fist up his ass, right?”

Looked up just in time to see Loki shaking his head. Loki’s body was arched, head tossed back, and all Tony could see was the sharp point of his chin--but the answer was clearly no. Interesting.

“Huh, so, like the ginger, then. We’ll have to revise you to Mister I’ve Had a Few Things Up My Ass, Sure, But Have Been Saving the Good Stuff for Tony Stark.” Laughed to himself and shook his own head. Looked back to where Loki was now watching him desperately, attention gripped by Tony’s good humor and--oh, yeah--the threat of impalement. “God, I would love to do that to you. Feel your asshole squeezing around my wrist. Feeling you get off from it--and you would get off, wouldn’t you?”

Another low, muffled sound--no nod or any other acknowledgment. Loki’s hole tightened around Tony’s finger, though, and Tony could imagine opening it up slowly, his hand clenched tightly as he slid first one finger, and then another, and another, slowly inside, gently encouraging Loki to stretch around the bumps of Tony’s knuckles, praising him as the angle of Tony’s thumb joint pushed and pushed against that vulnerable muscle and finally popped inside. Wondered at the sounds of relief Loki would make as his hole eased from the widest point of Tony’s hand, but then got to experience being stuffed full.

Wondered what Loki would say as Tony’s fist squirmed deep within his bowels. After Tony ordered him to talk. To describe how it felt in detail. After he was ordered to beg for orgasm.

God, Tony suddenly missed the sound of Loki’s voice. He loved hearing Loki on the edge, the way his words cracked and hissed, and Tony didn’t know why he was depriving himself of it.

He slid his finger free of Loki’s body and wiped his hands with a cloth he kept for such tasks, and then turned his attention back to his captive, his pretty little _toy._  Loki's cock was huge and strained and flushed with blood, looked like it almost hurt--hell, it probably _did_ hurt, but only in the best kind of way, the way that made Loki frantic and out of control.

And those eyes? They avidly followed each of Tony's movements. Loki was ready to come, beyond ready, and when he did, when his cock shot its load all over himself, only after Tony had fucked into him and, oh, yes, _given him permission, God,_ he was going to swear and shout and abuse Tony's very name, colorfully.

It was going to be _magnificent._

... So, _why_ was Tony depriving himself again? He shook his head to snap himself out of the image. Surveyed Loki once more. “Yeah, this isn’t going to work. I need to hear you.” He moved to kneel next to Loki again and began to work at the buckle, opening it and carefully sliding the device from between Loki’s teeth and over his tongue.

As he extracted the slippery metal, he brought his face close to Loki’s and spoke low into his ear: “God, you’re so good, you know?” Kissed the path of a tear that disappeared into Loki’s temple, and then continued: “I love how you’re up for anything, baby. I love everything you let me do to you. Everything. I love every time you say yes.”

He chuckled at the Loki’s sigh after the gag was finally pulled free. “I love when you can’t actually say yes, but I can see it in your eyes anyway.” He set the bit on the floor next to Loki’s ear, and kissed the red indent along his cheek. It would fade soon enough.

He pulled back and looked Loki over one time--the other now free of all but the shackles. He touched Loki’s face and stroked at that red mark. He knew he probably sounded stupid, but didn't care. Continued anyway: “I love how much I enjoy you, and how much you enjoy me.”

Loki was still staring at him, expression soft and eyes unfocused. Tony knew he'd pull it together in a moment, and so he waited to be rebuffed--to be put firmly back into his lowly-mortal place with sharp words and an arrogant brow. But ... a huff of air came out instead, a gust from Loki’s very diaphragm, and Tony almost wouldn’t have heard it--almost--except that, when it came to Loki, he always listened very, very carefully.

“I love you, Tony,” was what Loki managed to say, four quiet words, but so emphatic.

Tony felt his mouth literally fall open. And Loki--

Loki went white.

Oh.

_Uh-oh._

Tony tried to make himself speak, to react, but ... he couldn’t think of anything to say. Not a single damned thing. And Loki--Loki was paler now, even, and Tony knew his slack-jawed expression only mirrored Tony’s own.

Oh, no. No. _Not good._

The next minute was a fugue. Tony felt his own body tighten as he witnessed Loki’s reaction unfold. A slow transition from overwhelmed and fucked out to blatant dismay, and Tony already knew he had fucked up-- _really_ fucked up--but couldn’t fix it. Didn’t know how to.

Loki’s body spasmed under Tony’s grasping arms, trying to get purchase as he lunged up from the floor. The bindings fell free with a curse, and Loki managed to make it to his feet, his usual elegance gone. He growled in Tony’s direction. “Don’t touch me--”

Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to-- “Loki, wait. _Wait.”_

His reach was blocked. “Don’t touch me,” Loki repeated. A flash of something sour crossed his features. “I misspoke, Stark. You can’t think--” He visibly pulled himself together, straightening as he took another step back. “I _misspoke.”_

Tony’s hands clenched. If he wanted to play this, then Tony knew just how to play this. God knows he’d been in this position enough times, with partners who had seriously overestimated their importance in his life and needed to step back into line. “I know,” he said softly, soothing words for a familiar scene. They _never_ really meant it. “I know you didn’t. It’s just fucking around. Come on--” He tried to reach out again, broadcasting how okay everything was--everything was just fucking _keen._

But it clearly wasn’t enough. Or right. Or _something._ Loki kept pulling away, leather and metal sheathing his body once more after a few whispered words.

Tony got one more look, and then the flash of that same dark expression. “Goodbye, Stark.” A pause, in which Tony maybe could--

"Goodbye."

_“Loki.”_

And Loki vanished before Tony's hands connected.

And, as days, then weeks, then months passed, and he heard nothing, absolutely nothing, about the missing God of Mischief, Tony learned one new lesson:

He never really had any control at all. 

It was just a game.

 


	2. Chapter 2

A couple of problems arise when you break up with the God of Mischief--not that they were dating, and not that Tony was broken up with. He was just _disappeared on_ , for truth, but ...

Whatever, okay--two problems:

One: You couldn’t exactly bitch to other people about the end of your ... thing ... with the madman of Manhattan. Any whining and wining Tony wanted to do was one-hundred-percent solo. (Not that he did, and not that he would. Just theoretically.)

And two: You don't exactly get closure when the breakup (not that it was!) involves the other person dissolving into nothing and basically ceasing to exist.

Yeah, Tony had had some shitty breakups, and the idea of the ex fading away would have appealed to his twenty-year-old self. But now? He was a _man,_ dammit, and he wanted to understand what had happened. Wanted yelling and spitting and maybe a slammed door or two. Wanted someone to come by with a box and collect up the shit--the silver tree, the books, the soft blue coverlet that Tony's pretty sure belonged to Loki's mother.

He had to come back for that, right? Loki didn’t magic his belongings away immediately, so that meant he had to deal with the whole ugly scene, right? And Tony was bolstered by that for a few days, anyway, maybe a week, until he remembered--Loki could play a pretty long game, and maybe he'd come back for his stuff after Tony croaked. He’d once said to Bruce, what felt like a long time ago, that Loki could disappear for the rest of Tony’s natural life and probably not even notice.

Great.

_Great._

But ... back to the first problem. It was hard to cry on anyone’s shoulder when your arguably psychotic boyfriend-or-whatever moved out of the shared bedroom and went quiet. Hell, Clint was practically glowing with good cheer. But, you know, fuck it. And Tony couldn’t exactly blame him.

Bruce and Natasha? In their own ways, they were competing for the Bro award. As long as Tony was visibly holding it together, Bruce wasn't eager to talk, no. Tony had used up his “not that kind of doctor” exemption, and also Bruce may have accepted a fist-bump from Clint one time when he thought Tony wasn’t looking. But he would give Tony these pinched smiles and occasionally pat him softly on the upper arm or shoulder as they passed each other.

Tony supposed that was a comfort.

Natasha tended to follow more of Tony’s graveyard humor--sliding up next to him in the kitchen, offering that smile that seduced him in his dreams, and speaking low: “For the best, Stark, really; maybe you’ll stop stinking up the place,” before the smile widened but somehow also went kind.

“We hardly did that!” Tony protested as she moved away on silent feet. Then he sniffed his pits. Nope, all good.

So. That was the sum total of discussion between Bruce, Natasha, and him.

Thor? Well. Tony actually told Thor to his face--pulled off the band-aid and all that. Just, “Loki won’t be around anymore, I don’t think,” and Thor’s face had just ... creased. He’d considered for a moment, studying Tony’s expression like it was a crime scene, before trying, “Are you going to--,” and Tony knew he was remembering the shame-sandwich conversation, the other time Loki had just left.

But--

“No. It’s done. He decided. He left.” Watched Thor’s face smooth out and go stoic, and Thor nodded, and ... that was it. Over. It wasn’t like Thor was going to worry about going the rest of his life without seeing his brother. That reunion was pretty much guaranteed. They would fight over Mom’s coverlet at Tony’s fucking wake.

But as the weeks passed--as Loki remained silent on all fronts, not even triggering low-level SHIELD alerts--Tony started to settle into an understanding that, yes, Loki could handle the long game. There were nine realms, according to Thor, and he could pretty happily pass Tony’s mortal life time dicking around on any of the others, and never fuck with Tony again.

Which left Tony with his work, and the Avengers. Including the only one who suddenly wouldn’t leave Tony alone.

Steve.

... _Steve._

Who lingered just inside doorways and darted his eyes away not quite fast enough during meetings. Who sometimes wondered, “Okay, then, Tony?” when they were the only two in the room, sending warm prickles over Tony's skin.

It wasn’t like Tony had forgotten. Even if he had tried, Loki had--God, that fucker--Loki had teased him about it constantly. Tony’s stupid-ass teen crush, Loki’s constantly calculated odds of a three-way, always far too optimistic. Loki avoided the other Avengers, sure, even in the tower, but if Loki and Cap ended up in the same room together? Tony couldn’t even meet Loki’s eyes, couldn’t see the expression on that shithead’s face, without his entire body tensing up in barely-contained convulsions of giggling.

Steve put up with it--barely--and frequently muttered about “maturity” and “adult behavior” and “we’re all men here,” which only made Loki raise a perfect eyebrow, and, yeah, forget it. The odds of a three-way at any given time were pretty small given that Tony couldn’t stop laughing.

Tony finally had stopped laughing. And Steve, with a look that felt oh-so-familiar, kept turning up at the most convenient times, while Tony was heading out the door of the tower, while Tony was the obligatory Avengers or StarkIndustries attendee at some society event. Steve would just be there, in jeans or a suit or his uniform, and Tony started to wonder--

Started to _wonder._ Day 17, when Loki had observed that Tony’s very voice changed in the presence of Captain America. Of Steve Rogers. Tony never thought to check with JARVIS to see if it went both ways. Just assumed Mr. Born on the Fourth of July and Also a Million Years Ago only went one way.

Now he’d started to wonder if Captain America’s flag had a few more colors. He knew what it meant to be looked at that way. Missed it--oh, yes.

He _missed_ it.

So, after that strange, prickly buildup, it wasn’t altogether surprising when Steve showed up one convenient night at the Italian joint where Tony was supposed to be meeting a colleague--a non-Avengers colleague, for real. Tony had already gotten the call that Mirka wasn’t coming; some last-minute household crisis forced her to cancel. And so Tony glanced up between his antipasti and linguine, hand almost touching the wine glass, and ...

 

**...**

 

Steve is standing there. Lurking. Looking too large or small or awkward for his skin. In casual sport jacket over pristine cream shirt, dress code followed, as if anyone would give that man the boot.

“May I ... may I join you?” he asks, a hand softly trailing over the wooden back of the empty chair, and Tony says “sure” and “of course,” because what else is he going to say?

It’s _Steve._

Tony chose this place because the staff know to leave him the hell alone until they’re needed, and, now needed, they quickly catch Steve up to Tony in drink and dining until the pair are neck in neck over a beef course. Steve--Steve can’t get tipsy, right, except that his face has turned pink--from the wine?--and his eyelids have fluttered down sweetly as he asks Tony questions about his life and otherwise keeps to neutral topics.

They’ve been talking for an hour, Steve glancing up at him under those criminal lashes while he fondles his near-empty wine glass, about what Tony’s been working on, what he hoped to get from Mirka (“tech--is that a good enough answer? Just tech”), and what is next for Tony, _who_ is next for Tony, now that he’s ... unencumbered.

And Steve can’t ... can’t get tipsy. Steve doesn’t--shouldn’t care about whether Tony is _encumbered_ or not. Steve ...

Steve _shouldn’t be here._

So, Tony cocks his head. Already knows that, if he guesses wrong, he will pay for it, and hard, but asks anyway, “And what about you, Steve? Hoping to find anyone after Patty?” Enunciates the last _pre-cise-ly._

And Steve’s face stays the perfect shade of shell-pink as he reaches again for his wine, and he doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch as he lifts his eyes to Tony’s, and he only says, “Perhaps.”

And that is--

Tony keeps his face still, grinds down the flood of emotion that tightens his throat.

Suddenly some things about the last couple of months make a fresh kind of sense.

Tony demurs on the dessert course for both of them and instead asks Steve if he would like to come home, you know, with Tony (check that em- _PHA_ -sis, please), and Steve says yes. They go quickly, after Tony handles the check with no protest from his dinner mate, tonight--his Depression-era dinner guest who doesn’t even try to see the bill or use the phrase “fair share.”

Steve does, however, crowd him between the tables and through the door and into the car, as if no one is watching. As if he doesn’t care if anyone is.

It’s perfect and sexy and--

Steve’s hand settles comfortably on Tony’s thigh as they drive back to the tower, and Tony lets his hands settle on Steve’s waist in the elevator. Steve, who never stops staring at him, and whose lips part slightly as if waiting for--

JARVIS had tried to interrupt upon their arrival: “Sir, it is imperative that I inform you that--”

But he already knows, already casually checked on the location of the team, and all of them _(all of them)_ are A-OK and off-duty and none the wiser, so, “Mute.” Tony watches Steve’s face relax. “Whatever it is, it can wait, right, baby?” Steve’s shy smile doesn’t fit on his features--too large, or too small, or too awkward.

It’s not until they’re in Tony’s bedroom that Tony begins to talk again, and he has a lot to say, as it turns out. As Steve circles the room, as Steve surveys the personal effects--Tony’s, sure, but also Loki’s--Tony speaks.

“Here’s the thing about being with a god, Steve,” he begins, like he’s continuing a conversation that never happened. Fuck it. He rounds on Steve the same way Steve circled the mementos. Touches Steve’s arm, the curve of his ass as he talks, and meets no objection. Keeps his tone light. Light _ish._ “They set the rules, because of course they do, Steve. You’re a God-fearing man--you know this, right?” Doesn’t wait for the puzzled nod. Just keeps going: “They make the rules, and you have to obey and worship and get on your knees, because that’s what they expect.

“You have to take what they throw you, Steve, because they demand it.” Steve’s eyes are darting over Tony’s features, and his hands are twisting together. Tony could kiss that face, lick that innocent expression right off--could, but won’t. Not yet. Instead, he keeps going: “Loki had rules from the beginning--first the list, and then all kinds of conditions under which he’d come to me or not come--”

He snaps his fingers. “Ha, see what I did there, Steve-O? ‘Come or not come?’” He takes a couple of steps backward, then, and slides his jacket off his shoulders and onto the nearby chair. “And you know, I’ve never been good at following other people’s rules, which is why it was doomed from the start.”

Steve finally tries. “Tony, I don’t think--”

“No, hang on.” Instead of meeting Steve’s eyes, Tony works on his shirt buttons. One, then two, then three opened. “I have to give him credit--he made me realize how much I wanted you. Thought it was funny, probably--me pining over you in the middle of a battle, I guess, or dreaming about your ass like I’m a teenager--and, really, Steve, you’ve got the best ass I’ve ever seen--” Ignores the small noise of protest he gets from that.

Totally deserved.

“And then, you know, he left. Told me ... told me something, _Steve,_ a secret, and left before I had a chance to get used to the idea. To chew it over.” And Steve doesn’t feign curiosity--only watches avidly as Tony tugs off his shirt and exposes the reactor, the scars.

The nipple ring.

Yeah, okay, at the ring, Steve’s eyes get a little wide, and he makes a noise, a hurt kind of surprise or something, and that is ... that is funny. Or would be funny, if it didn’t make him so goddamned angry.

Because he didn’t expect Tony would still wear the ring.

_God._

Tony tosses the shirt on top of the jacket. Pointedly looks Steve up and back down, draws that gaze back from where it lingered on his chest. “Take your clothes off, baby,” he says, reaching for his own belt, starting to slide it open. “Because I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to enjoy it, because I’ve been given no other option.” He meets Steve’s blue, blue eyes, and Steve’s hands are still frozen in place. “I have to play by my god’s rules, don’t I?”

“If you--. Yes,” is the answer Tony gets, then a second _“yes,”_ because Steve is a God-fearing man, right, and he finally does as asked, with an expression that looks more like he’s prepping for yet another medical exam. His jacket was already gone when they entered the room, and Tony has his own turn watching the reveal of all that muscle and wheat-gold skin and earnestness layered over a dark core.

Steve’s breath is audible as his fingertips stutter over his own zipper, but he still doesn’t talk, really. Just says Tony’s name here and there, and “please.”

Not “I’m sorry,” but, hey, who expected it? Tony steps closer, now that they’re both fully naked, and Tony’s hard but Steve--he isn’t, and he still looks uncomfortable in that skin, shoulders pinching and hands uncertain, and when he reaches out to Tony to take him anyway, to hold him, Tony just says ...

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to fuck you, Steve.” Because Tony can’t stop talking, now that he finally has a chance to. Now that someone is _listening_ to him. Steve’s mouth is open and his eyes are pained. “Oh, Tony,” he says only, and Tony reaches a hand up, up, up to touch Steve’s face, all lantern jaw and wrong cheekbones. His hand continues around to the back of Steve’s neck, his nape, where he digs his fingers in and holds tight. Steve turns his cheek into the soft inside of Tony’s forearm.

It’s almost perfect, down to the gold curls tipped up by sweat at Steve’s hairline. Magical, and almost perfect, if Tony didn’t remember being touched by a god. Being looked at by a god who apparently loved him. Even a trickster god who can’t predict the fallout of his own games.

Tony’s voice has gone gentle as he strokes the sharp hairs just above Steve’s neck. “So. I will let him punish me by forcing me to leave him, and I will let him punish himself by throwing me away at someone else.” He brings his other hand to the line of Steve’s thigh and traces the seam to his still-soft cock. Skims it oh-so-lightly. “I will follow the rules, this time, and I will do what he wants,” Tony avows, “because he is a god, and that’s what I get for playing his _shitty fucking game.”_

Just as Steve’s face is pulled hard to Tony’s, just as their mouths are about to touch, Steve’s face--his expression changes, and he sighs, in another gust of breath:

“Pacific Rim.”

Just two quiet words, but so emphatic.

And he shifts.

Tony’s nails dig into Loki’s neck as now-Loki, always-Loki, drags him impossibly closer with those familiar and missed hands on his hips. Tony laughs, and it’s angry and kind of disgusted, but at least he laughs. “How many times was it you, watching me?” he asks first. And Loki wants to complete the kiss, but Tony pulls back hard. “No, really--how many?”

And for the first time in an hour, maybe more, Loki smiles. “ ... Several,” he says, a little proud of himself, which is no fucking answer, but at least it confirms that Tony wasn’t totally off-base recently, and also that ... well, Steve is still _Steve._ Still healing, still figuring things out, still pining over Peggy ( _\--Patty?!_ You idiot, Loki--do your background work. ... But then, Loki _was_ smart enough to plan those "visits" when JARVIS or the comms wouldn't expose his deception, so there's that). 

The revelation comes with a wave of relief.

“And that’s--” Tony chuckles, huffs an irritated noise even as Loki is still trying to kiss him like no time has passed, clutching at him with thin fingers and trying to draw him closer, suddenly and obviously needing. Needy. Tony only evades him for a moment. “That’s all--oh, hey! _Tickles!_ \--that’s all you have to say?”

And then they’re pressed together, and, God, Tony missed this, but he’s still so--

Loki straightens again, and Tony also missed being dwarfed, which is so ridiculous, but here’s Loki naked, dark hair a little longer, expression a perfect combination of self-assured and ... wary, maybe, like he was struggling inside himself to believe this would work, and Tony’s pretty sure they’re going to fuck, and it’s going to be the epic kind of make-up sex that shakes the building and upsets the neighbors, but first--

“No,” Loki says, “not all,” in response to a question Tony almost forgotten he’d asked, and then it’s his turn to talk.

“I love,” he starts, and the hesitation is killer. “I love that you, Tony Stark, have wholeheartedly embraced my rules, however capricious you find them. I love that you believe I have rules, and that I’m not fumbling in the dark, blind and fearful, every moment I’m with you." He bends down--stupid giant--and kisses the corner of Tony's mouth. "I love that you _believe,_ for what is a god without his believers?” Tony is still pissed, but, okay, he laughs at that. Loki has an arm around his waist, and another begins to explore, teasing up his back and arm and neck.

“I love how you look at me, they way your eyes lose focus ... that first moment, when you see me in the corset.” And that wasn’t what Tony expected, but okay. He shivers at the trail of fingertips and tunes in fully to Loki’s voice, which continues: “And when you see me in unimaginative Midgardian garb.” (That was more expected). “And when you see me in nothing at all.”

He stills Tony’s impatient squirming--takes Tony’s face in that teasing free hand and tilts it up. “I love that you forgave me after day fourteen.”

Wait--what? He tries to shake his head out of Loki’s grasp. “Oh, come on, that was just--”

“I broke your rules, and you forgave me.” Loki touches Tony’s face more carefully, a sweet stroke, then slides them closer together so they connect, sternum to pelvis. Two naked guys, Tony thinks, just having a moment, nothing to see here. “I love that you saw through my tricks. That you knew it was me.” Loki takes Tony’s wrist. “That you knew me.

“I only hope that you forgive me now.” He lowers his forehead to Tony’s. “For making you wait. And for making both of us doubt.”

He’s silent then, and they finally--oh, God--they finally kiss, and after a full minute Tony just can’t help himself. “That’s it? Nothing else to say?”

“I’ve said it all, haven’t I?”

And Tony, yeah, had brought this on himself--playing a game with a trickster. If he has anything else to say, it can wait, at least for a little while. But he--oh, he has a sudden, sickening thought. Had remembered to check on Steve, but--

“Did you-- Oh, God, what did you do to Mirka?” Jerks his head back from Loki’s. “Shit, promise me you didn’t--”

Gets a frown for his worry, like Tony is the one being unreasonable. “Her electric clothing dryer caught on fire. Surface damage. Her home and all her feline familiars are safe.”

So, fine. Tony’s hardly one-hundred-percent satisfied, but he’ll take it.

He puts his face to Loki’s neck and kisses him, breathes in the scent he’s missed, starts stroking hands all over that smooth skin. Notices Loki’s interest making a strong resurgence, and feels a rush of heat all over. Yeah, the neighbors are about to be _upset_. But has to add: “Not again, okay? Just ... not again.”

They’re naked, and in Tony’s bedroom, and Tony’s not missing that Loki has started edging them toward the bed. But Loki is willing to pause and answer: “No, not again. That’s our rule. And every game needs them, yes?”

And Tony’s still not one-hundred-percent satisfied, but he thinks ... he thinks he will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, reference key. All stories found in [Good, Giving, Game](http://archiveofourown.org/series/43617), unless otherwise noted:
> 
>   * Silver tree: Better Left Unsaid, Miscue 
>   * Bruce convo: Miscue 
>   * "Stinking up the place": Ripe 
>   * "Shame sandwich": Miscue 
>   * Nipple ring: GGG day twenty-one 
>   * Pacific Rim: Miscue and Uncle 
>   * Corset: GGG day thirteen and [Exposed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/634946/chapters/1835648) chapter of Prompted 
>   * Day fourteen and seventeen: Both in GGG
> 

> 
> Credit goes to [Nightalp](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightalp/pseuds/Nightalp) for asking about Steve in the very first [comment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1222885?show_comments=true#comments) on Last Words, chapter 1. I always wanted to include Steve in the series, in some way, but could never figure out how. Now I realize this is what I was waiting for (after a fashion). So, thank you for the inspiration!
> 
> I have a lot of feels about this part, so I hope you enjoyed it. I'm going to go eat chocolate and cry now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Find me (and whinge at me) [on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com).


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